


A Place to Call Home

by PotatoPIerrot



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Self Harm, first name basis, potential butchering of characters im very sorry, there are things that will probably not make any sense either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoPIerrot/pseuds/PotatoPIerrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was up to Kouki to show Seijuurou that imperfection was not a disability, that they were all only human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place to Call Home

**Author's Note:**

> ayyyyy as mentioned in the tags I probably butchered Akashi's character really badly here I'm really, really sorry he's just so darned difficult to portray ughhhh OTL
> 
> If you're fine with that, then please, by all means, proceed.
> 
> EDIT: WHOA WHOA WHOA THIS GOT A MUCH BETTER RESPONSE THAT I'D ANTICIPATED THANK YOU SO MUCH GUYS FLASJDF:ASD ;;A;;

Akashi Seijuurou was not supposed to waver in life.

He was not supposed to show any weakness, he was not supposed to be bested in anything he did. He was not supposed to make a fool out of himself. He was not supposed to seek help from others. He was not supposed to do anything that would stain the family name.

And he was not supposed to be into self harm.

That was what Furihata Kouki thought a little after he’d opened the door of his apartment one quiet evening to find a familiar redhead with mismatched eyes standing outside. At his side was a man Kouki vaguely recognized as a friend of his father’s; a psychiatrist, if he wasn’t mistaken. His first wonder wasn’t even _why_ they were waiting in front of his door, but rather what was the feared _Akashi Seijuurou_ doing with a _doctor_. It almost seemed wrong - for someone as unreal, as close to perfection as Akashi to seek medical help.

Kouki had a sinking feeling in his gut before he’d even agreed to let the two of them into his home.

He’d learnt to push his anxiety down during the days he spent in his last year of high school as the captain of Seirin’s basketball club, and he was never any gladder to have learnt something in his life. He swallowed the stutter that threatened to make an appearance before inviting his guests to take a seat on the sofas in his living room. He then told them to make themselves comfortable as he slipped into the kitchen to make them some tea.

Right up to the point where he carried the tray of steaming drinks outside to serve his guests, his apartment was silent. It was unnerving, but Kouki forced the thought away, and leaving the tray on the table, he settled down on the floor facing his guests.

“So,” he started, barely able to keep himself from fidgeting. He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down just like how he always did on every basketball match he took part in. If he could handle that, then this should be no problem. This should be no problem. “What brings the two of you here?”

“Furihata Kouki-kun,” the man spoke in all seriousness, though Kouki spotted a sparkle of friendliness in those dark eyes. “First things first, allow me to introduce myself as I am sure you’re probably wondering on how to address me.” He smiled, then produced a name card from a holder in his pocket and passed it over to him. Kouki accepted the slip of paper without a word, reading the finely printed letters on the surface.

“Doctor Yamada Keisuke,” he read aloud, and the man’s smile widened by the slightest.

“As you might or might not already know, I am also your father’s friend,” he said before reverting back to his dead serious mode. “But all that aside, I’d like you to know that I am here today on some very important business, and I’d like your help.”

Kouki involuntarily gulped, nervously glancing at the redhead - and nearly jumped on his seat. Akashi was staring at him with such intensity that he thought he’d bore a hole right through him. Kouki had seen this look before when he guarded him during those numerous basketball matches. But then again, he realized, something wasn’t right. Akashi always had a sharp, calculating gaze in the past, as though constantly judging someone or plotting something. Now those orbs of red and gold were.. empty.

It’s as if something had been lost.

 “And what would that be?” Kouki gathered up the courage to ask, and when the doctor’s gaze flickered away from his, it only added to his confusion. What the heck’s going on?

“You see,” the doctor began, placing a hand on the redhead’s shoulder. “Seijuurou-kun here has a problem.”

Kouki didn’t know which surprised him more; the fact that Akashi Seijuurou was letting someone actually _touch_ him, or the fact that he has a _problem_. It almost didn’t make sense, but he kept his mouth shut, and nodded to prompt the man into continuing. Yamada retracted his hand, and laced his fingers together on his lap, leaning forward.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with what personality disorder is, Kouki-kun, since you’re majoring in psychology right now in university,” he said, and Kouki nodded once more. “The thing is, Seijuurou-kun has been suffering from something like that for a while now.”

The memory of that one night during the Winter Cup of his first year of high school abruptly resurfaced in Kouki’s mind as he listened on. That’s right. Kuroko had mentioned before that Akashi had been a different person until an incident during their sophomore year in Teikou. He used to be kinder, gentler, and more compassionate - a huge contrast to the Akashi Kouki met on the day of the opening ceremony of the Cup who was cold, ruthless and almost twisted. Who lived up to his school’s nickname as an ‘Emperor’. Who had a height complex and would not even let you look him in the eye if he did not acknowledge you. Who treated his teammates like tools and nothing more.

Whom Kouki had really wanted to punch in the face real bad because how ridiculous could he get, thinking so damned highly of himself - even if he had the rights in the world to?

But according to Kuroko, there had been two Seijuurous. The original one and the scary one in a single vessel. Like two sides of a same coin. Kouki had learnt from his lectures that people sometimes develop alternate personalities as a coping mechanism against massive amounts of emotional stress. Akashi Seijuurou never looked stressed as far as he knew, but Kouki supposed he should never judge from appearance. No one knew what went on in the Akashi household, except maybe Midorima Shintarou. But even if he did, he did not reveal much.

“It’s only a mild case, thankfully, and we’ve been having it more or less under control since he’s been coming to see me since middle school,” Yamada continued, then paused for a split second before speaking again. “But the rest of that is up to him to tell you. At any rate, I’m here now to ask for your help, Kouki-kun, in helping Seijuurou-kun stop.”

“Stop in doing what?” the words were out of Kouki’s mouth before he could hold himself back. His gaze flickered to Akashi who was moving for the first time since he sat down on the sofa. Wordlessly, the redhead reached for the sleeve on his left arm, and pulled it up.

Kouki could only stare and stare and _stare_ because no, it was impossible. The Akashi Seijuurou he knew would not do something as stupid, as desperate as that. The Akashi he knew would think of a thousand other ways to solve his problems without bringing any harm to his own body. The Akashi he knew was too smart to physically mar himself because he would surely, _surely_ be able to handle anything that was thrown his way.

From his wrist all the way up to the base of his elbow, Akashi’s arm was covered with bandages.

“Even he doesn’t know when it started, but cutting himself is starting to become a habit, apparently,” the psychiatrist said with a soft sigh, shaking his head slowly. “You might not believe it, but even Seijuurou-kun has his limits. I did a diagnosis on him, and it seems that his condition had worsened since the last time I saw him. And from what he’d once told me, I suppose it’s the pressure his father is giving him to become the flawless, perfect heir to the Akashi name.” He paused for a moment for Kouki to let everything sink in before resuming. “And he has lost to your team once, yes?”

Kouki could never forget the day his team won against Rakuzan for the first and last time. He would even still dream of it occasionally, every single image vivid in his mind’s eye, every sound loud and clear. Every bit of pride and joy real and unforgotten. That day, Seirin’s basketball team made history by dethroning the Emperor.

That day, Akashi Seijuurou tasted defeat for the first time in his life.

That day, Kuroko failed to save him.

Yamada sighed again. “Unfortunately, again, it is not my place to tell you all about everything that’s happened after that. The point is, I’ve come to a conclusion that Seijuurou-kun must be helped before it’s too late. He needs a normal life, around normal people. He needs a break from his constantly monitored lifestyle, and he needs to understand that no one is perfect. And for that, I need someone to  aid him.”

“And that someone is _me_?” Kouki was still pretty much having trouble trying to comprehend the situation. The man nodded grimly.

“He needs to spend some time around someone he’s fairly familiar with and who’s exactly his polar opposite, yet has more or less the same interests as him.” He met Kouki’s eyes and held his gaze. “He needs to learn that even with failures, life goes on. And he needs to learn that from someone who had gone through various losses and hardship and is still living a normal life. And I discovered that you’re perfect for the job.”

“But what if I can’t do it? What if I mess up?” Kouki’s confidence wavered. Was it really alright to entrust such an important task to someone like him? This was some important guy’s mentality they were talking about!

“If you fail, Seijuurou-kun might end up killing himself,” Yamada told him straightforwardly. He must’ve seen how tensed Kouki was because the look in his eyes softened, and he added, “But I have faith in you, Kouki-kun. You’ve proven yourself as a capable individual.”

The unexpected praise somehow helped him strengthen his resolve. “What should I do?”

“Just merely spending time with him is enough,” Yamada said. “Be with him when he needs you. Keep sharp things away from him. Do not let him inflict a single other wound on himself. Stay by his side as much as you can. Show him that imperfection is not a disability.”

“What about studies?” As much as Kouki was willing to help, he still had his own life to handle. He had to attend lectures, had to complete his assignments. And Akashi too. Kouki wasn’t the only one attending university at his age.

“Seijuurou-kun is _way_ ahead in his studies, so don’t worry about that,” Yamada said, absently untangling his fingers and lacing them back together. “It wouldn’t make a difference to him even if he skipped a year or three worth of lectures. I’ve also made arrangements for him to attend your classes as an exchange student so you’d be able to keep an eye on him at all times.”

“Then what about going home?” Kouki inquired further, confused. Something didn’t seem right. “Do I send him back at the end of the day? Does he still live in Kyoto?”

The pity in the doctor’s eyes was all he needed for him to form his own answer.

“He lives here now, Kouki-kun. Seijuurou-kun has ran away from home.”

**xXx**

The first time Seijuurou cut a gash on his arm, it felt surprisingly good.

The voice in his head would shut up for once and the building pressure in his chest that interfered with his breathing would slowly tone down, as if leaking out through the wound along with the warm, crimson droplets of blood. It gave him a sense of peace he didn’t know he wanted. And it also _hurt_ ; a lot more than it should for such a shallow cut. Not that he minded the pain. He wondered if this was how other people felt like when they sighed.

He had never been allowed to sigh. Not really.

Before he knew it, Seijuurou was digging a blade into his skin every time he felt the familiar difficulty in breathing, almost as if on impulse. Then it eventually became periodic with the intervals getting shorter and shorter: once every fortnight, once a week, once every three days. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing most of the time. He was _Akashi Seijuurou_. He was not supposed to stoop so low that he was hurting himself to relieve his own stress. But at that point, he didn’t exactly care anymore. He needed to breathe. All this while he’d been doing things solely for the sake of his father, for the family reputation. Ever since his mother’s death, his father had been drilling him to be exactly how he wanted him to be. Perfect. And he had, for a reason he himself could not fathom, given him what he wanted. Perhaps he thought it was his duty as his father’s son. Perhaps he thought rebelling was just a waste of time and effort.

He honestly did not know.

He hid his scars, of course. The cold seasons were no problem, but it got a little complicated during the warmer days when he couldn’t wear long sleeves without being questioned by his father, he had to admit. He was never one to randomly feel grateful, but he was glad the air conditioners in the house were switched on 24/7 during the summer. His father would never notice little details like him starting to wear warmer clothes indoors where its freezing even when it’s forty degrees outside. The fact that no one else dared to question his decision to wrap his left arm up made things a lot easier, too.

Seijuurou found it ironic, above everything. That someone as highly looked upon as he would snap from the pressure and finally end up running away. He figured it was mostly the doing of his ‘other self’ - the owner of the voice in his head who’d always go against his decisions, telling him not to do this and not to do that. Who’d always told him things could’ve ended up differently if he hadn’t done what he did. Seijuurou was positive he wasn’t the one who’d ran away. He wasn’t the one who was silently screaming for help, for him to be granted a sanctuary. It was the voice in his head.

Even more ironic, was that he was actually in need of help from _Furihata Kouki_ , of all people. It was humiliating, but he didn’t care. The patch of skin on his left forearm was already almost completely covered with cuts; jagged criss-crossing lines that never even got to heal properly before he carved another one over them. For the first time in a while, he agreed with the voice in his head. This has got to stop. He knew he had to stop before it evolved from a habit to an addiction.

Seijuurou stayed on his spot on the sofa while he watched Furihata Kouki see Yamada Keisuke off at his front door. Part of him wanted to laugh at his own situation while the other stubbornly refused to cease feeling indignant over the fact that he was pronounced in need of psychological therapy. He pushed the thoughts away, reaching to massage off the kinks that had formed in his neck from maintaining his posture for so long. It didn’t matter who he was stuck with as long as he could get over his habit now, did it? Besides, Kouki had exceeded his expectations a number of times before. He might be giving him more credit than he deserved, but Seijuurou couldn’t see why there wasn’t a chance he would do it again.

Seijuurou wasn’t even aware that his fingers had started digging their way through his bandages to relieve the annoying itch he’d been attempting to ignore ever since he got onto the doctor’s car. He wasn’t even aware of his actions until Kouki returned inside, made a strange yelping noise when he saw him, and rushed over to pull his hand away. Seijuurou caught a glance at his own fingers as the brunet held his hand up above his head to refrain him from aggravating his wounds. They were sticky and red with fresh blood.

“Don’t do that!” Kouki chided with a tone that reminded Seijuurou of a mother fussing over her child. Then again, mothers were probably not supposed to sound so _unsure_. Seijuurou found himself feeling the slightest bit amused as Kouki visibly hesitated in deciding his next action. His thoughts were obvious on his face: _Should I leave him alone to get something to clean that up? What if he does it again? But it’s only going to take a while. But still. What should I do?_

“Come on, Akashi,” he finally came to a decision and said, giving his hand a light tug. “Let’s go wash that off first.”

“Don’t call me that.” Seijuurou’s voice was quiet as he abruptly felt anger bubbling in his stomach like hot lava. His hatred towards his surname was born the day he left the first cut on his arm, right across his wrist. The name chained him down from his own freedom and brought unnecessary and excessive expectations. At that point in time, Seijuurou was sick and tired of those. They never understood that it would be too much for a single person to shoulder the expectations of the entire world, no matter how capable of a person he was.

They never thought that even _he_ would have a life to live on his own.

Kouki studied him for a moment, surprisingly not looking as terrified as Seijuurou had initially thought. In fact, he looked considerably a lot more relaxed now compared to a minute ago.

“Sei it is, then.”

 Seijuurou couldn’t help raising an eyebrow at that. “ _Sei?_ ”

“Seijuurou’s too much of a hassle to pronounce.” Kouki shrugged, casually. “Besides, it doesn’t really make much of the difference, right? Sei’s still you.”

“You’ve got nerve to give _me_ a nickname,” Seijuurou mused, getting on his feet. The itch on his arm was not going away. It was getting worse, if anything. He was tempted to resume scratching, but Kouki had an iron grip on his right wrist. “Let go of me. I’m alright now.”

“No,” Kouki insisted, tightening  his hold as he led him to the bathroom. “I know you’re just going to do it again if I release your hand.”

“My orders are absolute, Furihata Kouki.”

“Not here, they’re not.”

Seijuurou sucked in a breath. It’s been a while since someone dared to defy him straight at his face. “I could kill you, you know.”

Kouki abruptly stopped in his tracks, and glanced over his shoulder to look at him. Seijuurou thought this was it. This was what he needed to do to bend Kouki to his will.

But on Kouki’s face was a grin Seijuurou absolutely did not expect to see.

“I don’t think you would.”

**xXx**

Kouki ended up giving him his stress ball.

The thing had been a gag gift his teammates in high school bought for him during the days when he was choking on blood studying for the entrance exams of his current university. It looked like a tiny, soft, squishable basketball, and it was really satisfying to mould around on his palm while he pored over his notes and books. He adored it. He even thought of it as his lucky charm at one point.

After spending the last few days taking care of Seijuurou, Kouki noticed that perhaps it was the redhead’s hand that was overly restless. It was difficult to say when it came to habits. Kouki would leave him alone for a split second, and every time he came back Seijuurou’s hand would be hovering above his bandages. It was the same thing when it came to sharp objects. Seijuurou would stare at the pair of scissors or shaving blade or pen knife Kouki accidentally left lying around for a long time before reaching to pick it up, only to have Kouki practically leaping over to swat his hand away.

So he gave him the stress ball and told him to never put it down unless he said so. He could only keep one hand occupied since he only had one ball, but Kouki thought it was enough. Seijuurou didn’t look like he was planning to start on his right forearm, and Kouki was grateful for that. He was struggling enough as it was already. It wasn’t easy trying to listen to his lectures and taking down notes and doing the chores at home and living life while constantly keeping an eye on the redhead. Kouki wouldn’t be able to give Seijuurou a normal life if his own was thrown off balance. Seijuurou was trying too, but Kouki noticed he was always doing what he did subconsciously. Seijuurou didn’t always realize he was hurting himself.

“You doing okay there, Sei?”

They were both preparing dinner together in the kitchen. Kouki doubted Seijuurou could cook at all (he didn’t try to deny him when he asked, anyway) and assigning him to chop the ingredients was only suicide, so he settled with asking him to stir the pot of curry and make sure the sauce didn’t overflow. Seijuurou didn’t see the point of doing this at first, but Kouki insisted because frankly, he personally didn’t like to the idea of letting someone freeload in his apartment, Akashi Seijuurou or not. Part of a normal life was knowing that nothing was achieved without working for it.

“Yes.” Seijuurou kept his eyes trained on the pot. He had one hand maneuvering the ladle while the other was shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. The strategy Kouki came up with was to keep his hands apart most of the time. “Though it does look like it’s time for us to lower the flame.”

“Hmm. Give me a sec. I’m coming over.” Kouki dumped the vegetables he was washing into a bowl he had ready and headed over, grabbing a tasting dish from the rack on his way. Seijuurou took a step to the side and ladled a bit of the curry into the tiny plate Kouki held out. Kouki took a taste, and perked up. “It’s perfect.”

He reached over, and set the stove to a lower flame. “You can stop stirring now, by the way. Just put the lid over the pot and we’re done.”

“Anything else?” Seijuurou asked once he did as requested, walking over to take Kouki’s place at the sink to clean the utensil he’d been using. The knife set was just right there, and he forced himself to concentrate on his task. Being so easily distracted wasn’t like him.

It  suddenly occurred to him that it’d been a week since his last cut. Seijuurou’s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging harshly into his palms. He was abruptly very conscious of the constriction in his chest and the urgent need to relieve it. But no, he had to resist. He could do this. Breathe. Breathe-

“Sei.”

Seijuurou snapped out of his daze when a pair of hands wrapped tightly around his own. Kouki had shut the flow of water, and was grabbing on to him like his life depended on it.

“Look at me,” he ordered, and Seijuurou did. Kouki held his gaze with a fervency Seijuurou didn’t know he had . “Stop thinking about it, Sei. Don’t give in. Take a deep breath.”

He tried inhaling. It was hard. The pressure was only building up more and more.

“It’s okay; you’re doing great,” Kouki told him nevertheless, massaging the spot at the base of his palm to urge him to uncurl his fingers. Seijuurou never thought he could find a person’s voice so soothing, so comforting. Not since he lost his mother. “Come on. One more time. Breathe in, slowly.”

Seijuurou tried again, and this time, he found it just a little easier. The feeling of something compressing his lungs gradually began ebbing away, and he slowly opened his hands. He took another breath. Then another and another; each deeper and easier than the one before. The intake of oxygen seemed to be the thing he needed to clear his thoughts. His palms were sore, but that was the least of his problems. Seeing that he’d calmed down, Kouki exhaled in obvious relief, though he still held on to his hand.

“I’m sorry.” It was only after he’d blurted out the words that Seijuurou realized he had actually _apologized_ to an actual person and meant it. Kouki looked just as taken aback, but he made no comments. Without a word, he retrieved the stress ball from Seijuurou’s pocket and pressed it into his hand, firmly wrapping his fingers around it.

“If you’re really sorry,” Kouki started, turning to the sink. “You’d do your best to get better. Now hold that ladle still while I scrub curry off it.”

It was just an excuse for him to keep monitoring him and Seijuurou knew it.

That unexpectedly did not bother him as much as he thought it would.

**xXx**

Bedtime was particularly a more challenging time for Kouki to handle his current predicament.

He was still nervous even after two weeks. He had an extra futon and his room had just enough space for two people when he moved his desk outside, and he had been sleeping side by side with Seijuurou ever since he unofficially became his roomie. That would be pretty normal and all except for the fact that Kouki had been holding the guy’s hand to sleep every night.

That was the only solution he could think up of, considering Seijuurou’s situation. He couldn’t risk him getting up to fetch something sharp and cut himself while he was fast asleep. He didn’t even need to get up if he wanted to claw at his healing wounds again. Holding Seijuurou’s hand was Kouki’s only option. He would be woken up either way, and he’d be able to do something to stop him before anything got out of control.

What Kouki found baffling was the fact that he actually felt awkward about it. Even _bathing_ together hadn’t been a problem for him, but for some reason, sleeping side by side was.

It didn’t help that Seijuurou was just going along with the flow.

Kouki couldn’t sleep properly the first few nights, and he was so exhausted he’d almost nodded off in his lectures for three days straight. He would’ve lagged behind in his studies if it hadn’t been for Seijuurou who’d taken it upon himself to help him with his notes. This, naturally, made Kouki suspicious at first because the Akashi Seijuurou he knew in high school would never do anyone favors without the intention of having it returned later on. Then again, the Seijuurou he knew in high school would’ve gouged his eyes out already for treating him as an equal and not a superior being.

The Seijuurou he knew in high school hadn’t been this broken.

Seijuurou even helped him with his homework and assignments. For a guy who’s supposedly a double major in business and law, he knew a whole darn lot about psychology. Sure, Kouki occasionally lent him his books to help him pass time, but to know so much more than him, a student who had been attending lessons almost every day for two years, by just reading - he was amazing. Kouki always knew Seijuurou was always some sort of super genius, but it was still pretty hard to believe. Not to mention it was really damaging to his self-esteem, but that’s not the point.

The point was that it kept Seijuurou busy, and it distracted him from his urges to hurt himself, even if it was only to a certain extent.

Kouki held his arms up and stretched in his chair, satisfied that he was done with that day’s worth of work. Seijuurou was on a chair next to him, hugging his knees while reading one of Kouki’s old monthly basketball magazines. He used to have such perfect posture all the time that Kouki felt stiff and aching all over just by _looking_ at him. So he’d confronted him one fine day, and told him that it was fine even if he didn’t sit like he had a piece of board strapped to his back. No one was watching him now, so it’s okay. Seijuurou had given him the weird looks then, and Kouki thought he’d just ignored what he said until the day he caught him curled up and lying sideways on the sofa while he read his first term textbooks.

“Remind me to never procrastinate again,” Kouki muttered as he slumped forward and rested his chin on his desk. His work had totally drained him. Seijuurou peered over the top of the magazine to look at him, a small smile of triumph on his lips.

“I did tell you do to your work instead of finishing that episode yesterday, Kouki,” he reminded, and Kouki only slumped his shoulders further.

“No need to rub it in,” he protested, and Seijuurou chuckled lightly. It was the first time Kouki heard him laugh, and he was instantly captivated by it. Seijuurou looked like a different person altogether when he was laughing; like the young man he should be who’s at the peak of his youth and enjoying life and not like some sort of professional who’d already had his life drained away by countless hours of work and the problems that came with it.

He was beautiful.

Kouki realized he had probably been staring because when he’d stopped, Seijuurou tilted his head slightly to the side, and asked, “Is something wrong?”

Kouki then felt blush rising all the way up to his ears, and he buried his face into his arms, hoping that Seijuurou hadn’t noticed his color change in time. “I-It’s nothing.”

“You’re going red.” Who was he kidding. This was _Seijuurou_ he was facing; the one with the Emperor’s Eye. Kouki felt stupid for even hoping he could hide anything from him.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, standing up so abruptly that he almost sent his chair clattering on the floor. He took a deep breath, willing the blush to go away before turning to storm off. “We’re going to sleep.”

As much as he tried, Kouki couldn’t exactly bring himself to stop thinking about the words that just popped into his mind at that moment, and Seijuurou’s willingness to let the subject drop only made his agitation worst. He didn’t get it; _he_ was the one who’d brushed it off and yet there he was, secretly wanting the redhead to ask further. _Huh_. He must be more stressed out than he thought.

But it was this little incident that sparked Kouki’s curiosity towards the redhead. What kind of sense of humor did he have? What kinds of food did he like and dislike? What were his hobbies? What did he really like to do? All those little things. It’d been a fortnight since he practically bombarded his apartment, and Kouki had yet to hear Seijuurou talk a little more besides saying only the necessary things. Did Seijuurou still consider him a stranger even though they would probably be living together for a long, long time from now on since he ran away? Was it something he was doing that made him uncomfortable and unable to warm up to him?

“Hey, Sei?”

Kouki stared straight up at the ceiling above, his fingers wrapped around Seijuurou’s wrist as they always were when they went to bed. Sometimes he got overly conscious of his palms being sweaty, but Seijuurou had never complained.

“What is it?” As usual, Seijuurou’s voice was calm. Kouki seldom heard him raise his voice or change his tone, even during basketball tournaments. And this, admittedly, made it very hard to tell what he was truly feeling. Kouki didn’t know why, but Seijuurou reminded him a little bit of Kuroko. They both had that tendency to refrain from showing too much emotion unless the need arose. But at least Kuroko was straightforward - albeit a _little_ too much at times, he had to admit.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a short pause. His free hand fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt. “For snapping at you just now.”

“You must really look down on me to think that I’d be offended by something that trivial,” Seijuurou said, and Kouki hurriedly shook his head.

“That’s not it!” he said, turning on his back to face him. “It’s just - I’m thinking that if there’s anything I’m doing that’s pissing you off or making you uncomfortable or anything like that then feel free to- “ he stopped short, his words dying in his mouth because for the second time that night, Seijuurou was laughing.

He really is beautiful, Kouki marveled. There was simply no other words to describe him. Not handsome, not cute. Beautiful. Kouki bit back the urge to simply reach out and touch him, to make sure that this man before him was real and not merely a fragment of his imagination. Instead, he managed to ask, “Why don’t you ever laugh a little more?”

It was Seijuurou’s turn to turn on his back to face him. He studied him with his strange, mismatched eyes, and Kouki suddenly realized that a small sparkle of life had returned to them. Or maybe it was just him, he wasn’t sure. “Everyone already thought I was insane back then, Kouki. I’m sure you did at one point too.” Seijuurou smiled when Kouki nervously glanced away. “If I were to start bursting out in laughter out of the blue, that would only confirm that I was crazy, wouldn’t it? Besides, there hadn’t been much of a reason for me to feel entertained.”

Kouki’s gaze flickered back to him. Being the point guard and captain of his team in his school days, he had developed the ability to sense the changes in mood his surroundings. He still hadn’t lost that skill, and he could feel that things were about to take a turn for the worst if he made Seijuurou reminisce further about the past.

“Then why do I make you laugh?” he asked next, sounding more serious then he’d intended. If the past was a problem, then he would ask about the present.

“Why _do_ you, now?” Seijuurou mused, and Kouki felt his heart skipping a beat at the sight of the look he was giving him; a look of honest wonder Kouki didn’t know Seijuurou could make. The brunet hastily turned away before he could start blushing like a high school girl in front of her crush. Again. What was wrong with him tonight? He tried his hardest to hide his agitation, though he was sure it was clear as day to Seijuurou. Nothing could escape his sight.

Kouki was not expecting his companion to breathe a sigh, especially not a weary one. When Seijuurou spoke again, there was a tinge of  uncertainty in his voice. “Perhaps it’s because no one has been able to make me feel so at ease for a long time.”

“What about the guys back at Rakuzan?” Kouki couldn’t help asking, and immediately regretted it when he felt Seijuurou wince ever so slightly.

“They did so too, actually,” Seijuurou said, his voice soft. His eyes were focused on him, yet Kouki thought they weren’t exactly looking at him when he turned back to face him. “Though I have to admit that I didn’t exactly do a good job letting them know that. Besides, it only lasted until Reo and the others left. The freshmen after us mostly cowered in fear in my presence.”

Kouki wanted to point out that Seijuurou himself hadn’t exactly made it easy for other people to approach him either, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Perhaps this wasn’t the right time to say that.

“It was the same during my days at Teikou,” Seijuurou continued, shifting into a more comfortable position. “I was truly joyful at one point in time. I had seniors and teammates that I came to treasure with all my heart, piers who befriended me for who I am and not just because I was the son of some important man. They were the people who thought nothing of the Akashi name I have to bear and treated me just like how they treated everyone else. They made me feel.. _normal_ , I guess. But everything was great while it lasted. Nijimura-san and the others graduated. Daiki’s talents bloomed and so did the rest of the Miracles’, and I had to let them go. Tetsuya left because of something I did. In the end, I was alone until high school.”

He paused, and Kouki belatedly realized that he should probably ask him to stop now. The memories might be too much for his current mental stability. But Kouki couldn’t exactly stop himself from wondering: if Seijuurou really had two personalities as Kuroko had said back then, then which one was he speaking to right now? Was he the Seijuurou before the incident in Teikou? Or was he the Seijuurou Kouki met during the first Winter Cup in high school? Which one had it always been? Kouki couldn’t tell. He didn’t think it mattered.

He was the Seijuurou he knew _now_ , and that was what’s mattered. At least to him.

You were always either the one left behind or the one leaving, Kouki thought, but refrained from saying it out loud because he knew, Seijuurou did not need his words of sympathy. Even if those really had been his true feelings, even though it must’ve been painful. Even though he had to bear it all alone without anyone to listen to his silent pleas. Kouki knew Seijuurou mostly had his own stubborn pride to blame; but really, who would believe him even if he said anything? He had always been the coldhearted, psychopathic genius to everyone he knew. Akashi Seijuurou probably had no more human emotions left in him.

Everyone thought he was nothing short of a monster.

“I’ll always be here for you,” Kouki declared suddenly, and Seijuurou blinked, really looking at him now and not past him like what he’d been doing for the past few minutes. His eyebrows were arched high, and he seemed like he was having trouble interpreting what his companion had just blurted out.

“I won’t leave you, Sei,” Kouki continued, trying hard not to smile at the redhead’s bewilderment. It wasn’t every day he got the luxury to see this expression on his face. “I’ll stay by your side for as long as you need me. So please.” He subconsciously tightened his grip around his wrist. “Please trust me more. You don’t need to hide everything from me. If  you ever need someone to listen to you, or to lend you a shoulder, or to rant to or anything at all, I’ll be here. I’ll always be here right by you.”

Only after he said everything did Kouki realize that _damn_ that was cheesy as hell. He tried not to squirm and worked to swallow his growing embarrassment, but he resisted breaking eye contact with Seijuurou. He forced himself to refrain from glancing away because even a microscopic change in the latter’s features would indicate something, he was sure. Seijuurou in turn, only stared at him for what seemed to be an eternity of silence. Kouki was rapidly beginning to feel overly conscious about the loudness of his heartbeat, and how his hands and feet were starting to sweat even more, and how Seijuurou’s gold eye seem to glow under the light from the streetlamp outside seeping in through the window above them and-

When Seijuurou finally broke into a smile, Kouki thought this was it. This was the day he officially died from mortification for saying lines probably only used in shoujo manga. He had no one to blame but himself, really. He should’ve considered his words properly before speaking instead of attempting to be cool by spouting things on reflex.

“Well then,” Seijuurou started, and Kouki held his breath, bracing himself for the teasing to come. They never did. If anything, there was an odd ring in Seijuurou’s voice that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Will you listen to my first selfish request, Kouki?”

“Sure,” Kouki said, hoping he didn’t sound as uncertain as he felt. “What is it?”

Seijuurou had no such hesitance. “Hold my hand.”

“I thought I’m already doing that?” Kouki asked, confused. Seijuurou shot him a strange look, like, _really_? and he stared back in a mixture of defiance and increasing perplexity. “What?”

“That’s my _wrist_ , Kouki,” Seijuurou explained with a tone of infinite patience. “I’m asking you to hold my _hand_.”

Kouki was still pretty much failing to process his words when everything just suddenly clicked in. Oh. _Oh_. Color flooded his face so fast he didn’t even have the time to react. Crap. Crap, crap, _crap_. It was already hard enough for him to hold his wrist while trying hard to will his hands to stop sweating too much, but to hold Sei’s hand with his own? Kouki was afraid he’d disgust the redhead so much he would consider running away again.

“M-Mine are really sweaty and sticky and gross, though,” he tried to reason, but Seijuurou didn’t look like he was going to back out of his request anytime soon. “You okay with that?”

Seijuurou once again said nothing, only choosing to keep that amused smile on instead. Kouki swallowed nervously, and slowly scooting a little closer, he released his companion’s arm, patted his hand on the futon several times in a last-minute attempt dry off some moisture, and tentatively reached to hold his hand.

Kouki didn’t think he’d be able to sleep that night with his heart beating so hard against his chest. Heck, he could feel his pulse right to the tip of his toes. He tried to concentrate on other things in order to calm himself down, but he just couldn’t seem to do it. He couldn’t exactly toss and turn, either, with him holding the redhead’s hand like that. It was going to be a long, long night and Kouki knew it.

But when Seijuurou moved to lace his fingers with his a little later, Kouki found his unease strangely fading away. Seijuurou’s hands were surprisingly every bit as sweaty as his, and the calluses on his fingertips reminded him that this person too, used to take part in the sport he loved with all his life.

Kouki didn’t know if it was the work of all these little insignificant things or if it was the work of the tiny squeeze Seijuurou gave his hand a little later on, but his anxiety soon disappeared, and he eventually drifted off to sleep.

**xXx**

After that night, Seijuurou insisted for Kouki to hold his hand instead of letting him play with that stupid stress ball all the time.

Not that he didn’t like the stress ball. He had to admit it was a little - maybe in a microscopic scale - cute.

After that night, Seijuurou found himself yearning for the gentle warmth of Kouki’s hand. Ever since his mother’s death, he’d ceased making physical contact with another human being. Even if he did, it was never for an extended period of time; never more than the few necessary seconds. He’d forgotten how warm and comforting another person could be. And now that Kouki had given him that experience, Seijuurou didn’t want to stop feeling it in case he would forget it again. He didn’t want to forget again.

Seijuurou had yet to discover why, but after spending several weeks with the brunet, the voice in his head had quieted down. Rather, they mostly thought and spoke in unison now, like they could finally agree on something without contradicting each other. The emotions he used to feel in the past were slowly returning, too. Seijuurou used to find nothing worthy of piquing his interest. Everything that happened around him would be within his expectations, so he seldom felt surprise, joy, glee, disappointment, nor sadness.  He knew he used to when he was a child, but as he grew older, everything just faded away like an unimportant memory.

Kouki managed to bring them back slowly, but surely. Seijuurou couldn’t understand how he did it, no matter how he tried. For a person who’d always been able to come up with a reason or solution for every single thing he faced, the feeling of being unable to comprehend something was a first for him. Kouki didn’t do anything remarkable, not really. Just as Yamada Keisuke had told him to do, he’d merely let him join him in his painfully normal life. He made him do chores, made him follow him for grocery shopping, made him sit down and watch TV and laugh over those lame lines that appear every now and then.

Everything was so different from how he lived his life in the Akashi household.

And he loved it. Probably a lot more than he thought he should because he knew that this too, will come to an end someday. Just like how it had been for everything that he’d come to even remotely enjoy. Just like his time with his mother or with the Miracles. Just like how it was in basketball. Just like the satisfaction he felt when achieving victory.

And every single time he felt he lost one of those, his heart grew emptier and emptier. Until he himself wasn’t sure if he still had one anymore. He forgot the true meaning of what friends and family were. He forgot how it felt like to have adrenaline pumping through his veins due to excitement. He forgot the satisfaction of winning; be it in shogi or basketball or anything that required competition. Everything just became meaningless.

Staying with Kouki filled that vast void in Seijuurou’s heart, little by little, bit by bit.

“I can’t wash your hair for you with only one hand, Sei.”

Kouki protested - almost flatly - when Seijuurou made the request. Really, he of all people should know better than that.

“But I might take the chance and cut myself when you’re not looking,” Seijuurou replied demurely, working to keep his lips from twitching into a smile. His urges to cut himself had just about disappeared, and his wounds had pretty much healed completely, so the itch was also gone. Even if Kouki were to leave him alone now, Seijuurou would probably be able to handle himself just fine. But Seijuurou wasn’t going to tell him that, and neither was Kouki willing to risk it.

“I know you won’t.” Kouki pressed a sponge into his outstretched hand. “Now turn around a lean back properly or you’ll get shampoo in your eyes.”

“Fine,” Seijuurou feigned sulkiness and did as he said, leaning against the side of the bathtub and tilting his head slightly backwards, his legs folded thanks to the lack of space. “But I want tofu for dinner tonight in return.”

“ _What have I done_ ,” Kouki sighed wearily as he brought the showerhead over to give Seijuurou’s hair a quick rinse, threading his fingers through brilliant red locks. When Seijuurou glanced back, there was a lopsided smile on the brunet’s face. Being with Kouki, he realized, also allowed him to stop putting on fronts. No more threats, no more ‘know your places’s. No more ‘my orders are absolute’. No more ‘because I always win, I’m always right’. No more of those nonsense. No more hiding his vulnerability. Seijuurou could be who he really was when he was with Kouki, and he also could discover more about himself alongside the latter. He no longer had the need to pretend.

He was no more the Akashi Seijuurou his father wanted him to be. He was the Seijuurou _he_ wanted to be now.

“How do you want it cooked?” Kouki’s voice snapped Seijuurou out of his reverie. The redhead failed to stop himself from exhaling in content when he massaged shampoo onto his scalp. “The tofu, I mean.”

“Hmm.” Seijuurou closed his eyes, feeling the tension in his muscles relax as he sank a little deeper into the warm water. “Tofu soup.”

“You really love that, don’t you?” Kouki noted, removing his fingers from his hair and once again reaching for the showerhead. “We have that almost every week.”

 “I suppose I’m just making up for lost time,” Seijuurou said, frowning a little as droplets of water from the shower blast splashed against his face. Kouki was always careful with washing his hair, constantly trying his best not get his fingers too tangled with the strands so he wouldn’t accidentally tug off a bundle of red locks in the process of setting his hand free. Seijuurou really liked the way he did it, and Kouki knew that.

There was a lapse of silence between them for the next ten minutes or so, broken only by the static-like sounds of the shower. It was comfortable rather than awkward. Neither of the men were keen on swallowing shampoo water, no matter how small of a dose it was. Once Kouki deemed Seijuurou’s hair clean, he put the showerhead aside, and stood up from his stool to fetch a towel from the rack, rubbing his sore arm while he was at it. He then walked back over, draped the cloth over Seijuurou’s head, and proceeded to dry his hair the same way as how he would dry the family cat back at his parents’ house.

“You know,” he spoke as he allowed himself to get carried away in fluffing Seijuurou’s hair up. He’d always liked to do this, and though the guy himself had threatened to poke his eye in his sleep once because of it, Seijuurou didn’t exactly hate it now, either. More like he’d given up trying to convince the brunet that he wasn’t a domestic pet. “I’ve always wondered why and how is it that your hair’s so red.”

“It’s genetics,” Seijuurou said, reaching to grab Kouki’s wrist to stop him from rubbing his head bald. The latter reluctantly pulled his hands away. “I inherited it from my father.”

“It’s gotten longer,” Kouki commented, absently feeling a few still partially wet strands between his fingers. Seijuurou adjusted his position so that the back of his head was resting on the rim of the bathtub to look at his companion. It was uncomfortable, but he figured he’d have to make do.

“Should we get it cut?” he asked, and Kouki’s gaze flickered up to meet his.

“Sure,” he said, before adding quickly; “But not too short though. No offense, but your haircut when you were in high school made your forehead look super big.”

“It really did, huh?” Seijuurou allowed himself to crack a tiny smile. “Reo and the others always commented that it made me look younger.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Kouki agreed, searching his memories for the very first image of Seijuurou he had during their first Winter Cup. The scene of Seijuurou attempting to stab Kagami in the face with a pair of scissors resurfaced, and it utterly baffled him that the teen then and the young man before him now were one and the same. Seijuurou no longer had that fractured, maniacal light in his eyes. If anything, Kouki would say he’d reverted back to the Akashi Kuroko knew back in Teikou Middle School.

If there had ever been a second Seijuurou to begin with.

Seijuurou reached out with his free hand, and lightly touched his fringe. “How about we get something like yours, then?”

“Wouldn’t it be a little too normal for you?” Kouki said, sounding sheepish. He had to admit that he did feel slightly flattered that Seijuurou would want a haircut resembling his. “But if you really do want something like this, then I guess I can cut your hair for you, since its actually my own handiwork.”

“Kouki’s unexpectedly good at doing odd things like these,” Seijuurou noticed, and Kouki’s grin widened with pride.

“I could say the same for you, Sei,” he said, and the redhead was about to take that as a compliment when he added; “I mean, the fact that your fringe didn’t end up as a wreck after that stunt of yours last time was just amazing.”

Seijuurou had never felt the sensation of heat rising to his face in a blush of embarrassment, and now that it was happening, he couldn’t say he liked it a lot. He silently decided that he was never showing such a face to anyone else. Kouki better relish the moment now because he was never seeing this sight again.

Or at least not in a long, long while.

“I suppose it was,” he said and adjusted his position so that he was once again sitting properly. And seeing the color on his face, Kouki burst out laughing, though Seijuurou could tell he didn’t mean to offend him or anything.

“I can’t believe you’re _blushing_!” Kouki managed to blurt out amidst his fit, and seeing how tickled he was by a mere change of complexion on his face, Seijuurou couldn’t exactly stay angry at him. Despite how matured he tried to act in front of him, Kouki still had his childish qualities. And though he was not in the position to say anything, Seijuurou thought that made him incredibly adorable.

“Kouki.”

Kouki barely had time to let his laughter die down when he felt a pair of soaking wet hands slip up the sides of his face, pulling him forward. His yelp of surprise was muffled by Seijuurou’s lips pressing tenderly against his own.

Seijuurou had expected to be pushed away once his companion regained his senses, but Kouki did no such thing. Instead, he froze up. And when Seijuurou pulled back, he was just one shade away from matching the color of his own red hair. Ah. He’d really done it now. That was a bad miscalculation on his part, but what was done has been done, he supposed.  

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, though he knew apologizing made no real difference. It wasn’t like he could turn back time and undo the kiss. Still, he figured he should at least try in making Kouki hate him a little less. Actually, he preferred to not be hated at all, but who was he to ask.

“T-The bathroom is a pretty awkward place for a first kiss, don’t you think?”

At the sound of his stammering voice, Seijuurou stared at him. Hard. Kouki was one surprise after another, _geez_. “You’re not mad that I kissed you?”

“Well, I can’t say that I’m not completely _not_ mad,” Kouki folded his arms across his chest, still blushing pretty hard. His voice was shaky and he refused to look him in the eye. “But I can’t say that I didn’t like it at all, either.”

“But I did that so suddenly.” Seijuurou was pretty much still having trouble believing what he was hearing and seeing. Kouki didn’t look like he was freaking out as bad as he thought he would. Seijuurou had never met someone so unpredictable in his life. Or maybe it was just him who was letting himself be taken aback by the flow of events instead of being constantly skeptical about everything like how he used to be.

“Do you really want me to get angry at you so bad, Sei?” Kouki asked as he shifted his weight. Seijuurou couldn’t tell if he was talking to him or the bucket on the floor, but he made no comments about that.

“So does this mean you _like_ me?” Seijuurou failed to stop himself from asking even though he knew full well how stupid of a question that was. Even Kouki had to look up and back at him in ridicule.

“For a guy who’s supposed to be smart as hell,” he said, smiling tentatively at the redhead’s visible cringe. “You sure are dumb.”

“But I’m a -“ Seijuurou stopped himself abruptly. He took in a deep breath, and exhaled with a huff, raking his fingers through his hair. “I guess I am.”

“How about this.” Kouki turned around so he was facing away from the redhead. “You can scrub my back as penance.”

He was so naïve that it scared Seijuurou a little. “Aren’t you afraid that I might make a move on you after what I’ve done?”

He couldn’t’ see his face, but Seijuurou could see the reddish tint on the tip of Kouki’s ears. “I still need someone to clean my back for me, don’t I?”

Seijuurou loved the current life he was living. He loved the freedom he had now. He loved the food they’d always have for dinner, and he loved the calming peacefulness of the apartment. He loved the warmth of the body beside him every night, and he loved the fact that he was no longer alone, that he finally had someone to stay by his side.

But most of all, Seijuurou realized, he loved the man named Furihata Kouki.

**xXx**

The day Kouki made a mistake was the day he decided he could leave Seijuurou alone at home.

It was only for a little while. It was on a Sunday morning, and since there was no need for them to attend lectures, they’d usually sleep in a little later. They would usually wake up at the same time, but there were some exceptions, of course. Kouki had woken up before Seijuurou that particular morning and had decided to let the latter rest a little more while he made breakfast. Kouki had seen the bags under his eyes. The guy really deserved some extra sleep. So he’d carefully slipped his hand away from the redhead’s, and headed to clean up and prepare to start the day.

When Kouki opened his fridge to get some milk after changing out of his sleeping attire, he realized they’d ran out. It didn’t matter much, actually, but Seijuurou liked his omelet with it. Kouki knew he wouldn’t mind either way, but he figured that since it was still a bit early and Seijuurou’s still asleep, he could make a quick visit to the nearest convenience store to pick up some milk. It was only a ten minute walk away -even quicker, if he jogged- and besides, Seijuurou was all okay now. He’d only be gone for a while. Sei should be able to take care of himself just fine.

_Sei should be able to take care of himself just fine._

**…**

Seijuurou woke up to find himself alone in the apartment.

His first thought was, he hated to admit, incredibly immature and paranoid. Kouki left him. He’d broken his promise. There had been a mistake. He was just like everyone else.

He was just like everyone else.

But Seijuurou wasn’t irrational enough to jump right to conclusions. He’d pushed those useless - and utterly _stupid_ , really - thoughts out of his mind, and forced himself to calm the hell down. He was starting to sound like one of those absurdly helpless maidens in movies and whatnot, and it honestly disgusted him to the very core. He was stronger than that, wasn’t he? He was a lot stronger than that. And a whole lot manlier too.

Seijuurou spotted Kouki’s note on the table as he was making his way to the bathroom to clean up. He headed over and picked it up, still mentally chiding himself for feeling so damned weak. It might mostly be the pressure his father gave him that drove him to do it, but when Seijuurou earned himself his title in high school, he’d taken quite a lot of pride in it. No matter what his father said or did, it was his efforts, his own hard work that paid off. No, he was not weak. He had never been; except perhaps for the past seven weeks where he’d felt like he could not survive without Kouki by his side.

Hey, even an emperor could get lonely.

Seijuurou picked the note up and scanned its contents. _Out to buy milk. Be back in around 15 minutes._ And along with that, Kouki had jotted down the exact time he’d left the apartment. Seijuurou glanced at the digital clock under the TV. Kouki will probably be back any minute now.

Seijuurou sighed softly, and decided that he’d lost the motivation to brush his teeth. He crumpled Kouki’s note into a small ball, and idly flung it into the mini wastepaper basket at the foot of the television stand before sinking down onto the sofa. He reached for the remote, and leaning back for a more comfortable position, he turned on the television.

It was that time in the morning when seventy percent of the channels Kouki had subscribed to were airing newscasts. Seijuurou halfheartedly listened to a lady reporting about the weather, a yawn escaping his lips. It’s been a while since he was alone like this, it suddenly dawned him. He knew it’d only been a couple of months since he bombarded into Kouki’s life, but for some reason, it felt way longer than that. It felt like they’d been living together for years and not a few mere months.

Time had always passed slowly for him. In the past, he would often find himself just waiting for the days to pass because there was hardly anything interesting going on. He knew those girls would come confess to him behind the school. He knew his table would be drowned with a mound of chocolates during Valentines. He knew who would be his opponents in the semi-finals. He knew Ryouta would finally defeat Tetsuya and face him in the finals. He knew almost everything that was going to happen, and no matter how hard he busied himself with both schoolwork and the work his father dumped on him with the excuse of training him for the near future, it bored him senseless.

The fact that he’d started cutting himself didn’t help, either. He’d wait and wait and _wait_ for the time to come when he could finally carve another line into his skin, and it always felt like it took forever. The days passed slowly, too slowly. He hated it. He hated it a lot. Which was why the two week intervals gradually became three days.

His days with Kouki were slow as well, but in a much more pleasant way. Seijuurou cherished every minute of it, and honestly, he didn’t want this to end. He knew in his heart that it will end. There was no such thing as eternal happiness, Seijuurou knew that first hand. Life was never that indulging. His joy will come to an end, and Seijuurou could only hope it wouldn’t happen so soon.

He was eventually getting tired of listening to the newscaster’s voice and was just about to change the channel when the headline that suddenly popped out caught his attention. He froze when his brain registered the words, his eyes wide. No. _No, no, no, no_. He could feel the long forgotten pressure returning and rapidly building up in his chest. Why now? This couldn’t be happening. He’d been silent for so long, so why now? Why did he choose to do this _now_ of all times?

They were looking for him. Seijuurou couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move, couldn’t think. After two months of silence, they were finally making his missing public. They were asking for help to find him, even offering a reward as if he was a convict on the loose. Seijuurou was relatively far from his father’s house, but that wouldn’t matter if the whole of Japan knew. People would recognize him, would force him to return to his father’s clutches. To the expectations, to the strictly controlled life he hated so much.

More importantly, his father would _kill_ Kouki when he finds out that he’d been silent about having him in his home all along. Seijuurou’s own ruthlessness, just like his red hair, had been inherited from his father. Even if he spared him, he would, without a doubt, do his best in making Kouki’s life miserable. And he would make his son’s life miserable as well. No, Seijuurou can’t be found and taken back. He refused. No more. When he ran away, he’d decided that he was never going back anymore.

He had to do something. He had to do something before it was too late, before everything came to an end. Think. He mustn’t let his father have his way. He mustn’t let Kouki be endangered. Think. He had to think.

He still couldn’t breathe.

**…**

When Kouki opened the door, he realized Seijuurou was awake.

When he walked over to greet him, he realized his arm was stained red.

Kouki was surprised he didn’t drop the milk. He managed to set it down properly on the floor before panic completely seized him, and he rushed to Seijuurou’s side. _Oh, god_. He’d only been gone for a little while! Regret weighed down on his shoulders as he knelt down before his companion. He shouldn’t have left him alone. He should’ve woken him or waited for him to rouse before he went out. He should’ve just made breakfast without the milk. He shouldn’t have let his guard down.

He shouldn’t have been this careless.

But then again, Seijuurou had been in great condition all this while, part of his mind argued while he worked to pry the bloody penknife out off the redhead’s iron grip. He’d showed no signs of being tempted into cutting himself again. Except for the fact that he’d needed him to constantly hold his hand, he was, as far as Kouki could see, completely normal again. Seijuurou had been able to recover by himself without much help from him.

Yet, why did this..?

“Sei.” Kouki was barely able to keep his panic out of his voice. Seijuurou’s eyes were wide and unfocused, his breathing shallow and rapid. Seeing him made Kouki’s chest hurt. What could’ve reduced Seijuurou to such a state? Kouki decided not to care about that just yet. He had to focus on the task at hand.

“Relax, Sei. I’m here now,” he said as comfortingly as he could, gently tugging at his fingers curled tightly around the blade. It was the one he’d so casually left inside the drawer of his study table, he realized, guilt weighing down on his shoulders. Seijuurou didn’t even look like he noticed him, much less hear him.

“Sei,” Kouki called again, moving closer to his face. “Sei, it’s me, Kouki. Look at me, hey.”

He could feel him tensing, slightly. He must’ve heard him. Kouki took a deep breath, and forged on.

“Come on. Let go of the blade. We’ve still got the bleeding to stop,” he said, successfully prying one finger loose. The others came off easily after that, and Kouki quickly set the stationery aside before returning his attention to the redhead. Seijuurou was still staring at the blood dribbling out of his wound in alarmingly big droplets, barely breathing.

Kouki slipped his fingers into the spaces between Seijuurou’s and held on tight. His hand was startlingly cold. “ Snap out of it,” he told him firmly, silently willing those heterochromatic orbs to focus on him and nowhere else. “Look at me, Sei. You don’t need to be scared. I’m here with you. It’s alright now. I’m here.”

He paused, and waited, holding his breath. His heartbeat hammered in his ears, making it hard for him to count the seconds passed. _Come on, Sei,_ he silently pleaded over and over and over again. _You’re stronger than this. Come back. Please. Please._

Come back to me.

Seijuurou’s eyes flickered towards him, and Kouki caught his breath, the loud thumping of his heart stopping for a split second. He didn’t know if he’d imagined it or not, but for a moment there, there were no signs on recognition in them.

_No. Please, no._

“Kouki?”

Kouki could’ve sobbed with relief, but he held on to his self control. He didn’t realize how tightly he’d been holding on to his companion’s hand until he tried tightening his grip and discovered that his fingertips were already hurting from pressing down so hard.

“Sei,” he managed to say, and it abruptly dawned him that Seijuurou still wasn’t breathing properly. “Calm down,” he told him, though it felt like he was ordering himself to do so as well. “Breathe.”

“Kouki,” Seijuurou repeated, sounding a lot younger than he really was. Now that Kouki thought back, he reminded him of a lost child; confused, scared. “I-“

“It’s okay,” Kouki soothed, reaching to run his fingers through his hair with his free hand. He could only hope with all his heart that he was not making things any worse. “I’ll listen to all that later. You need to breathe first.”

Seijuurou took a quick, shaky and shallow breath. Even Kouki could tell that just doing that hurt him. “I can’t-“

“I know you can, Sei.” Kouki forced on a reassuring smile. Or at least he hoped it was reassuring. “Take it slow. You can do it.”

 He watched anxiously as Seijuurou gradually regained the ability to inhale, feeling his own chest constrict. For someone as unbelievably amazing as him to be in such shape - Kouki found it, more than anything, very, very heartbreaking. The fact that Seijuurou had probably been pushing himself to put up a strong front before everyone until now, the fact that he’d been suffering alone all this while, pained him incredibly. Why couldn’t he had said something earlier? Why couldn’t he had abandoned his pride just for once in his life to ask for help? Why couldn’t he had sought someone who would listen, who would not have judged him for being just a little weaker than usual?

Why did he have to do shoulder everything himself despite knowing full well of the final outcome?

It was saddening, and it was also very frustrating. But what was done has already been done. Kouki couldn’t change the past, but he knew he could make a difference in the present. And he _would_ make a difference for him, no matter what it took.

He quietly waited for his companion to return to normal, never once taking his attention off him. He waited until those shallow, desperate breaths slowly morphed back to deep, rhythmic ones. He waited for his own panic to fade away before finally pulling Seijuurou into a loose hug, though the more rational part of his mind kept screaming at him to patch up his bleeding wound first. Just a little while, he thought to himself, cherishing the fact that Seijuurou was still here, still breathing, still _okay_. Just a little while is enough.

“Don’t you _dare_ scare me like that ever again,” he whispered fiercely, unable to stop his voice from coming out shaky. He didn’t know who was trembling more; him, or the redhead in his embrace. Seijuurou seemed slightly too stunned to react at first, but when he snapped out of his stupor, Kouki could hear and feel him exhaling a long breath, the tension in his body disappearing.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, leaning onto Kouki’s touch. Honestly, Kouki still had about a million questions to ask him, but he held himself back. He still had other worries to deal with at the moment. And besides, Seijuurou was fine now, and that was all he cared about.

That was all he cared about.

Kouki released Seijuurou from his embrace, pulling back so he could face him properly. There was a wan smile on his lips. “As long as you’re fine, Sei. Now come on.” He paused, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. His mind made a flashback to the day Seijuurou first came to his apartment; a slightly different situation, but the same emotions: anxiety, sympathy, protectiveness. “Let’s get your arm cleaned and patched up.”

**xXx**

If Seijuurou were to list out the things he hated, his own name would probably be at the very top, right under his father’s.

The wound on his arm was deeper than the cuts before, and it stung like hell once the pain settled in. He didn’t know how one piece of news could utterly throw him off balance like that. Things like this never used to faze him even the slightest. Now he was prone to panic attacks. After everything, he’d softened up to the point that he felt absurdly weak. That can’t do. He couldn’t afford to be too weak. It wasn’t his style, wasn’t his character.

He couldn’t rely too much on Kouki. Not with him being a wanted person right now.

Seijuurou bit his lip as he resisted the urge to scratch his healing arm. They’d almost failed to stop the bleeding that time, and Kouki had nearly dragged him out to the nearest clinic for stitches if it weren’t for the emotional state he was in. Seijuurou tried so hard to concentrate on other things, sweat broke out on his forehead. His past urges were tolerable, but his current one was almost unbearable. It felt like he had ants crawling in and all over his wound under the bandages, hell-bent on driving him mad with the itch.

Kouki gave his hand a squeeze, and cliché as it seemed, Seijuurou was able to take his mind off his arm a little bit. The chocolate brown eyes that stared back at him showed concern, faith. Kouki’s gaze always had that look of faith in them; faith that Seijuurou will be alright no matter what happened. The brunet said nothing, but Seijuurou could practically feel he was at the very verge of voicing his questions. But he wouldn’t answer even if he asked. Seijuurou was not ready to let him know. Not yet.

Not until he made the essential plans.

His hesitation must’ve shown in his face, because the look in Kouki’s eyes softened, and he said, “Just remember that I’m always here to hear you out when you’re ready.”

Seijuurou let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thank you,” he said, then paused, considering. Now that he thought of it, Kouki never knew much about what drove him to become like how he was now, did he? He had blindly agreed to help without knowing the story behind everything, and this made Seijuurou feel slightly uneasy. Kouki deserved and had all the rights to know, especially after all that they’ve been through together. But was Seijuurou himself ready to share? He’d been keeping everything to himself for so long that talking about his problems with another person felt exactly the same as revealing a deep dark dirty secret. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to tell him without feeling immensely uncomfortable, without feeling like he might burden Kouki more than he already had.

But if he were to explain why he’d cut himself the day before, Kouki would still need to know the full story to understand. He would find out eventually anyway, so why not tell him now?

“Kouki,” he started, and took a breath, gathering his willpower to not back down from his decisions. He would never have doubted himself like this in the past, and that, for some reason, mildly annoyed him. “There’s something that I think you should know.”

Kouki’s change in expression was just barely visible under the weak illumination of the streetlamp outside. He nodded for Seijuurou to continue, determined to hear every single word he said. He was serious to the point that Seijuurou found it oddly comical, and he failed to resist pulling his free hand from under the warmth of the blanket and reaching over to pinch his companion’s cheeks.

“I thought this was supposed to be something serious,” Kouki protested without bite, lightly swatting the redhead’s hand away.

“It is,” Seijuurou laughed, feeling his earlier uncharacteristic nervousness fading as he retracted his hand. It surprised him how something as subtle as this could stop his insecurities. Hell, he was surprised he felt irresolute in the first place. “But try not to look at me like that. It makes me feel really self-conscious.”

“You could do with some self-consciousness,” Kouki told him frankly. Seijuurou opened his mouth to make a retort, but stopped in the last second. They would go nowhere if this went on.

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, turning to lie on his back so that he was staring at that one spot on the ceiling that’d became a familiarity to him after so many nights. His heart pounded in his chest. Seijuurou couldn’t remember when was the last time he’d had this feeling. “It’s about why I started cutting myself. You never knew exactly what happened, did you?”

“Actually,” Kouki started, and Seijuurou turned back to him, eyebrows raised. “Does it really matter?”

“I thought you might want to know,” Seijuurou said, blinking blankly. Kouki shrugged.

“It doesn’t really make much of a difference if I knew the full story or not,” he said, then shifted to look him in the eye. “It’s your dad, right? I get that much from what I heard from Kuroko and the hints dropped by Dr. Yamada. That’s enough for me to get the rough idea. Your dad wanted you to be perfect, but things became too much and pushed you past your limit. You searched for a way to escape from the pressure - even if it was temporary - and ended up with a bleeding arm, and a habit that might endanger your own life. Then when cutting yourself felt like it wasn’t enough anymore, you ran away.” He paused for a breath. “I guess that about sums it up?”

He made talking about his situation sound so damned easy. Slowly, Seijuurou nodded, and Kouki smiled crookedly.  

“You probably still feel hate yourself for that even now, huh?” he said softly, and he was greeted by a lapse of silence.  He took that as a yes and went on, “It’s okay not to be perfect _all_ the time, Sei. We’re all only human. I mean, I know you prided yourself on being able to do the impossible and being able to achieve almost anything all the time, but you’ve got to understand that that doesn’t make you any less human than any of us. Sure, you’re insanely talented and smart and good looking and all that - but you’re still.. so _young_.” He brushed the back of his fingers against Seijuurou’s cheek. “You might think what you did is unacceptable, but I’m sure every person out there would agree with me. You deserve a break from the life your father wanted you to live.  You deserve to live your life your way.”

“But the consequences of what I did,” Seijuurou’s said, breaking eye contact, his gaze flickering to the side. “Is the chance of you getting hurt, Kouki.”

“Then stop it before it happens,” Kouki told him, firmly. “Make it so that nobody would be hurt, not even _you_. You’re _the_ Seijuurou, aren’t you? Are you going to just sit back and cower and let things not go your way?”

There was a hint of indignity in Seijuurou’s voice when he looked back at him and spoke. “Of course not.”

“You’re absolute, aren’t you? You need to make them know their place, don’t you?” Kouki pressed on, and even the former had to smile at his choice of words.

“Don’t get too arrogant by using my words now, Kouki,” Seijuurou threatened, though he sounded more amused than miffed. Kouki’s smile turned into a grin so blindingly bright Seijuurou couldn’t help  expecting him to start glowing in the dark.

“That’s the spirit!” he laughed, and it was at that moment that Seijuurou made his decision. Kouki had protected him long enough. It was his turn, his time to return the favor.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Seijuurou promised once his companion’s mirth had subsided, taking him quite by surprise with the solemnity of his tone. “I swear on my life.”

“I’m not powerless to the point that I can’t take care of myself, you know,” Kouki joked drily. He leaned his forehead on Seijuurou’s shoulder, his voice dropping to a fond whisper. “But thanks, anyway.”

Seijuurou smiled, leaning over to plant a soft kiss on the top of the brunet’s head. “It’s the least I can do. Now let’s go to sleep. It’s getting late.”

Kouki hummed in agreement, snuggling a little closer to his partner. Winter was over for two weeks now, but it could still be pretty cold at night and a little extra warmth was always welcomed. Seijuurou didn’t sleep right away; he stared into the darkness, listening to Kouki’s breathing that eventually slowed and deepened as he slipped into slumber. A plan was already forming in his head, and no matter how much he hated it, how much he pondered to find an alternative, it was the best one he had. It was also the easiest way for him to ensure Kouki’s safety. It didn’t matter even if every fiber of his being went against his mind’s decision. It didn’t matter that he loathed the fact that this seemed to be the only way to get things done.

Seijuurou was going back to Kyoto. 

**xXx**

Kouki thought it was best to not mention he knew.

He saw it in the news broadcast when he once again woke earlier than Seijuurou two days after the incident. The current head of the Akashi household had made his move. They were asking the public to help look for the heir. Kouki had brought Seijuurou along with him almost all around town, and while he himself didn’t stand out much, the latter would sure have thanks to his unusual hair and eye color. Their neighbors knew the both of them well enough.

If they’d wanted to report the two of them, then they would’ve done it by now. Kouki spent his time half expecting someone to knock down his front door and come storming in and handcuffing the both of them before shoving them into a limo and driving off all the way to Kyoto. His nerves were constantly on high-alert mode, and he had to work his hardest to keep his jumpiness at bay in order to make things seem normal. But even after a week of paranoia, there were no knocks on his door, no suspicious men in shades and suits following them, no expensive cars whisking them off to another prefecture.

Either nobody cared, or nobody watched the news.

Kouki knew something was bound to happen. Not everyone was aware of Seijuurou’s problem, and he was pretty sure some guy from university would spot them somewhere in campus sometime soon and make the call and get his million yen. No one owed them anything. It would just be easy money.

Other than that one episode, Seijuurou seemed to be taking things pretty calmly. Or at least he looked a whole lot calmer than Kouki felt. He did notice, however, that the redhead had began to return slightly to his unexpressive self recently. He still acted no differently when they were together, but during the times where no words were exchanged between them, Kouki noticed Seijuurou wearing that stoic, calculating look he recognized from his high school days.

Kouki had thought of the possibilities. Seijuurou could do anything from fleeing to the other side of the world to confronting his father and stabbing him in the face. He could even go more extreme if he had to, and Kouki was hoping Seijuurou wouldn’t be that desperate or heartless. His father might be an asshole, but no one deserved to be stabbed to death by their own son. Being badly disfigured was still acceptable, though. Nevertheless, he was hoping Seijuurou wasn’t going to do anything crazy and draw more attention upon himself. He had enough problems as it was.

“You’re frowning again.”

Kouki blinked out of his reverie, his gaze settling on his companion seated across the table. Seijuurou had his head tilted slightly to the side, the look in his eyes curious. Kouki tried not to blanch. He’d gotten carried away with his thoughts.

“Sorry,” Kouki said, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. He smiled sheepishly. “I was just worried about you. How’s your wound doing?”

“There’s still some itch, but it’s healing just fine,” Seijuurou answered, reaching out with his chopsticks to break off a piece of grilled salmon. Kouki found himself watching him with childish fascination; mesmerized by that certain hint of grace Seijuurou always had in his movements. He was also amazed by how he could act so utterly unaffected despite being the target of a probably nationwide manhunt. Where the heck did all that composure even come from? Kouki would like to borrow some if he could.

“It’s not just about my wound, is it?” Seijuurou asked when Kouki entered a stretch of silence. Kouki saw no point in lying now that Seijuurou had made his guess (his guesses were never wrong) so he shook his head.

“Your father’s searching for you,” he said, making it a statement because that was the truth. Seijuurou didn’t even ask; Kouki was not that ignorant. But he was grateful, grateful that he’d had the mind to give him space to think and react.

“I know,” Seijuurou said, calmly setting down his cutlery. “I know, Kouki. And I’m working on that right now.”

Kouki was afraid of the answer, but he steeled his nerves and asked. “What are you going to do?”

There was no change in Seijuurou’s expression, not even the slightest. “I’m going to see my father.”

Despite having expected this already, Kouki was still a bit taken aback. “ _Alone?_ ” he managed to overcome his stupor and blurt out. After everything Seijuurou had done to escape the man’s clutches, he was just going to waltz right back into them again? After everything he’d done to make sure he wouldn’t return home ever again?

“Of course.” Seijuurou placed his elbow on the table and resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “No offense, but anyone being there with me would only get in the way.”

“You’re not going to _kill_ him are you?” Kouki stared at him, incredulous and terrified at the same time. He knew Seijuurou was fully capable of doing that. Hell, he’d do it without even batting an eye. Kouki didn’t care if Seijuurou would hate him for it afterwards, but if he was going to go with the intent of murdering a person, he’d do everything to stop him. He will not let Seijuurou commit a crime.

“What makes you think I’m going to?” Seijuurou had a very, very amused smile plastered on his face at the sight of Kouki’s overreaction.

“You mean you’re not?” Kouki asked tentatively, feeling his frantic heartbeat gradually calming down. He still had conflicting emotions when Seijuurou broke into a chuckle.  

“He’s not worth dirtying my hands over,” he said, and Kouki let out a loud breath, not even bothered to hide his relief. “But I can if you want me to,” he offered playfully, and laughed when Kouki visibly paled once more.

“Please don’t,” the brunet begged meekly. “Please don’t even joke about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Seijuurou said, his mirth subsiding. Now that he wasn’t smiling, the look on his face was dead serious. “But honestly, if killing him is the only way to keep you safe, Kouki, then I won’t hesitate to do it. I’ll do my best not to let things come to that, though,” he added quickly when he saw Kouki opening his mouth to protest.

“When are you going?” Kouki inquired instead after being cut off. He wasn’t even _that_ surprised at Seijuurou’s answer.

“I’ve already made the necessary arrangements,” the latter said, and Kouki couldn’t help but wonder when did he do it. He was with him almost all the time. “I’m leaving first thing in the morning the day after tomorrow.”

“You sure you’ll be alright?” Kouki eyed his bandaged arm anxiously, his eyebrows knitted.

“Just trust me,” Seijuurou told him, his expression softening. “This is something only I can do.”

And that was undeniable. Kouki would only be a hindrance if he followed him, that was painfully obvious. If Seijuurou’s father was bad as Kouki expected him to be, he figured his presence there would only give him leverage to bend Seijuurou to his will. Kouki refused to give him that opportunity. Seijuurou deserved his freedom, and Kouki would not let himself be the one ruining things. If he could help by not going, then so be it.

“I _do_ trust you, Sei,” Kouki sighed before smiling softly at him. “I won’t stop you, but you have to promise me one thing.”

Seijuurou silently urged him to continue. Kouki’s eyes met his, and he held his gaze, staring straight into those orbs of scarlet and gold.

“Promise me you’ll come back safe.”

Seijuurou stood up, the suddenness of his motion startling his companion. He then walked over, and without even giving Kouki a chance to react, he pulled him into a kiss. Kouki was initially too stunned and embarrassed to respond, but he soon managed to loosen up, and eventually looped his arms around the redhead’s neck and started kissing back with the same intensity, the same fear of losing him. Despite his appearance, Seijuurou was worried too. Kouki knew that from the way he held him; the slight tremor in his hands, his tender yet firm grasp. This is the Seijuurou who’d been stripped of his protective walls and had his core exposed; his fragile, imperfect, completely human self.

“I promise,” Seijuurou whispered once their kisses had ended, burying his face in the crook of Kouki’s neck. His voice sounded strained. “I promise I’ll be back.”

 This was the Akashi Seijuurou only Kouki knew.

**xXx**

Seijuurou supposed half the reason why he was not reported yet was because he glared at every person who looked like they recognized him until they apologized.

The other half, he guessed, was that no one actually cared.

Seijuurou didn’t think he needed to conceal his identity any more than he had been doing, but Kouki insisted for him to wear a paper mask to cover his face and a very unfashionable baseball cap to cover his hair before sending him off at the station. There’s no such thing as being too safe, he’d said, and although Seijuurou thought the garments made him look a little like a stalker, he obliged. Now that he was halfway through his journey, he was starting to appreciate Kouki’s paranoia. He didn’t think he’d have the energy to make every single person making eye contact with him cower in fear. Not when he was this busy coming up with backup plans for every potential scenario. He had no right to call Kouki paranoid, really. He was just as bad.

Seijuurou’s right hand habitually played with Kouki’s stress ball as he stared out the window, halfheartedly watching the scenery outside flash by and change. If the information given to him was correct, his father was free of appointments and all that sort for the day, meaning he would be in his office the whole time. Seijuurou would arrive at Kyoto some time during lunch hour, and depending on how much work his father had, he might or might not be out by the time he reaches the office.

Not that it mattered either way, actually. Seijuurou had it all sorted out.

The ride spanned several long, boring hours, and Seijuurou found himself gradually being lulled to sleep. He dug his fingernails into his palm to resist the urge. He couldn’t let his guard down, even if no one seemed to recognize him thus far. Some gave him strange looks, but he was sure it wasn’t because they thought they’d seen him somewhere before. Thank God for Kouki’s ugly hat.

 His phone chimed to life in his pocket, and he shifted to retrieve it. It was a mail from the brunet himself, asking if he was fine. He’d been doing this every fifteen minutes since Seijuurou boarded the train, and he honestly couldn’t decide whether to feel weary or what. _Just damn bored_ , he typed his reply and sent the message, casting his attention back to the view outside. Around an hour and a half more till he reaches his destination.

He received yet another mail. _Maybe you’d like to play something?_ Seijuurou raised an eyebrow. Wasn’t Kouki supposed to be attending his lecture right about now? He asked just that, and got the reply that the professor was caught up with something at the last minute, so classes that day were cancelled. Which, left him completely free on the most inconvenient day in his life. With nothing to distract himself with, Kouki was bound to be restless for the entire time until Seijuurou returned home.

He was probably going to be fine. Probably.

Seijuurou didn’t end up taking up Kouki’s offer, though. He figured he couldn’t afford to be too relaxed. He’d endured for so long; he should be alright for another ninety minutes. He could do this.

By the time the train finally came to a stop, Seijuurou’s head was hurting like he’d just stabbed a pole through each temple. He belated realized that perhaps he overdid the thinking. Whatever. He welcomed the gush of cool air as he stepped onto the platform, letting it help clear his mind. He realized with a start that his hands were trembling slightly. Was it nerves? Was he afraid? He took a deep breath and clenched them into fists. He was not afraid. Not this time. Never again.

For the first time in a long, long while, Seijuurou heard the voice in his head speak.

_Let’s go._

And once again, he found himself agreeing wholeheartedly. Seijuurou took a moment to gather every last bit of his resolve, mentally making a quick, last-minute run-through of everything he’d planned to say and do. And then turning on his heels, he headed towards the exit of the station.

Like it or not, it was time for him to see his father.

**xXx**

It had been three weeks since Seijuurou went back to Kyoto.

He never returned home - not once. Kouki called his cell knowing it’d never get through. He contacted Dr. Yamada to ask if he knew anything and got a negative. He even got in touch with some old friends he knew who were in Kyoto to see if they happened to hear or see anything related to the redhead, but it was all in vain. It was as if Seijuurou had just disappeared.

Even Seijuurou could not fully defy his father, it seemed. It must’ve frustrated the former to death to be sent right back to square one, and Kouki couldn’t deny feeling surprised Seijuurou hadn’t stabbed his dad yet. There was nothing he wanted more than freedom, and that was the one thing his father refused to give him. How a man could be so utterly heartless towards his own son, Kouki would never know.

Kouki never stopped waiting, even when there were no signs of Seijuurou’s return at all. The first few days were agony. He’d spent every single minute of his free time obsessively wiping non-existent dust off his furniture and polishing his plates and basically spring-cleaning his apartment over and over again. He’d rearranged the books in the shelf first in alphabetical order according to their titles one day, then by their authors on the next, then by their authors’ surnames the following day. Then he’d dumped everything out and rearranged them color coordinated. Rinse and repeat. Kouki knew he was on the very verge of developing OCD but really, he couldn’t help himself. How was Sei doing? What’s keeping him back there? Why isn’t he home? Did something happen? Kouki had always been a worrywart, and even though Seijuurou did warn him beforehand that there were no guarantees on how long he would take before he could come back, he just couldn’t keep still.

Kouki had tried to calm himself down and go on with life. Really, he did. For many times, in fact.

To most, Seijuurou’s predicament probably seemed trivial. The way the both of them were handling the situation probably even looked ridiculous and overdone to an outsider. They made it seem as if Seijuurou was going off to war or something! But Kouki knew more than everyone else. Given his mental and emotional conditions, Seijuurou might as well be going to war. Facing something -or someone- you’d so desperately ran away from wasn’t easy, even if you were the redhead himself.

Seijuurou had abandoned everything when he disappeared from home; his father’s expectations, his position as the heir of the company, his old life. His pride. For him to stroll right back home by his own free will after all that, Kouki thought he was just absurdly amazing.

Kouki wondered when did his life started to centre around Seijuurou so much. He used to be able to live alone just fine. He used to not mind being the only company for himself most of the time after his university lectures. He didn’t use to mind the emptiness of his apartment, the meals he cooked for one. He didn’t use to mind the absence of the warmth of another when he slept. Now everything just felt strange, hollow. Kouki eventually managed to calm himself down enough to regain some sleep and attention span, but he still couldn’t get himself used to glancing at the sofa without seeing a figure lounged or curled up there. His left hand constantly felt like it was missing something. He forgot how big of a serving he should cook for a single person. He often caught himself musing aloud and expecting someone to reply with a snarky remark.

He’d forgotten how to live alone.

But Sei will be back, Kouki always told himself whenever he felt a sense of unexplainable isolation overwhelming enough to clench his heart and make him curl up into a tight ball. It’s only been three weeks. It doesn’t mean he’ll be gone forever. He’ll be back, without a doubt.

Because Sei promised.

The days passed one by one, and by the fifth-month mark, Kouki had stopped letting himself glance at his front door at every spare moment he had when he was at home. As determined as he was to not give up on hope, he was simply too tired. His term exams were just around the corner and as anxious as he was for Seijuurou’s wellbeing, he knew the latter wouldn’t want him to fail out of university because of him. So Kouki had manned himself up, and willing himself to stop mulling over the redhead’s absence, he’d presented himself to the mercy of his notes and textbooks. He had no choice but to take his mind off personal matters if he were to pass the exams with at least marks decent enough to not make people doubt him when he’s applying for a job later in life.

Kouki had a tendency of dozing off after poring over his books for exactly two hours straight, much to his chagrin, and that day had been no different. He’d startled awake when he felt drool trailing down the corner of his mouth. When he jerked back on his chair, there was already a wet spot on the page he was supposed to be reading. _Gross_. Kouki disgustedly wiped it off with a piece of tissue. He was lucky none of the words were smeared too badly, but drooling all over his book wasn’t exactly his idea of marking his property.

With a sigh, he stood up, deciding to wash his face and hopefully lessen his drowsiness a bit (and perhaps even get himself something to chew on while he was at it - his stomach could really use a refill at the moment). As he turned around, he spotted a familiar bag on the floor leaning against the leg of the sofa. _Wait_. It hadn’t been there before. Realization sank in, and his heart skipped a beat. He noticed a socked foot protruding from the corner of the furniture next, and Kouki felt himself walking towards it in a sort of daze. As he approached, thanks to the silence of his apartment, he could make out a series of soft, deep breaths.

And sprawled there defenselessly on the sofa, was Seijuurou.

He was wearing a suit strangely resembling his uniform back in high school; the top two buttons of his black shirt undone, the gray jacket and tie carelessly draped over the arm of the couch. His once carefully combed hair was now a mess, and Kouki had never in his life seen a person so utterly at ease while sleeping on a sofa. He must’ve been dead tired too, for Seijuurou never _snored_ as far as Kouki knew.

Kouki had imagined their reunion to be quite emotional, but things didn’t exactly turn out the way he’d expected. Not like they ever do, anyway. He couldn’t even feel his own heart beating now, for one thing. He walked around the furniture and knelt down before the slumbering redhead. Seijuurou’s back, the words kept on repeating in his mind. _He’s here. Sei’s back_.

Kouki reached out, and lightly trailed his fingers across the side of Seijuurou’s pale face. He’d done it so gently he didn’t think he could’ve felt a thing at all, but the redhead’s eyebrows knit slightly, and with a soft groan, he stirred from his sleep. Eyelids parted to reveal a pair of mismatched eyes, still hazy from his nap.

“Kouki.’ Seijuurou’s gaze focused on the brunet a split second later, and he grabbed his lingering hand, slipping his fingers through the gaps of Kouki’s with familiar ease. Kouki felt himself suddenly breaking into a fond, weary smile.

“Welcome home, Sei,” he told him, feeling the invisible burden weighing down on his chest all this while disappearing. He was always, _always_ making him worried, geez.

Kouki didn’t demand for any explanations right away. Honestly, he couldn’t care less. The amount of time he had to wait didn’t matter. The fact that Seijuurou didn’t tell him anything beforehand didn’t matter. The fact that he’d probably been keeping something from him didn’t matter.

Seijuurou was here right now, and that was all he cared about.

Seijuurou stared at him for a few moments with the same look of awe Kouki sometimes noticed he wore during those nights when they would just lie facing each other and babble about the littlest of  things until they fell asleep. Then Seijuurou too, offered a smile of his own; one that was the brightest Kouki had ever seen. One that he knew, _he_ would be the only one who would ever have the pleasure to see.

“I’m home, Kouki.”

* * *

Seijuurou’s deal with his father was that he was free to go with the condition that he could produce or find another heir bearing the same Akashi name that the current head would approve of.

If that man thought that was impossible for his son, if was sorely mistaken.

Seijuurou had tracked down every relative he had, researched on their backgrounds, assessed their  characters and basically did a very, very thorough checking on every person directly related to him by blood and name. He had to admit he’d been lucky; his ancestors and everyone following them had great family planning and rarely ever bore more than three children as long as there was a boy among them. It made his job a whole lot easier and though he wasn’t one to avoid problems ( _most_ of the time, anyway), he would rather prefer to get things over and done with as quickly as he could and return to Kouki’s side.

It took Seijuurou five days to decide on a relative whom he deemed had enough potential to handle running a super company. The young man was his third cousin; the middle grandson of his granduncle. He was twenty-six, and was already running a company of his own, apparently. Quite successful at it, too. And he seemed to be the kind that would seize every opportunity he got instead of getting all mad and angsty when the current heir personally asks if he would want the position.

After two phone calls, an appointment, a week of observance and a lot of discussion and persuasion and surprise on his cousin’s part, Seijuurou got his man.

But even with his abilities, it took time for Seijuurou to train his relative to be a worthy heir. That’s right - worthy was the word. Not perfect. His cousin was already pretty good to begin with (it runs in the family, he supposed) but there was still quite some work to do. Seijuurou had to drill him on many things - almost too many things because his cousin refused to neglect his original job while they were at it. Seijuurou did nothing to stop or help him because he knew, things would only be worse if he became the CEO. _When_ he became the CEO.

Nevertheless, even though he used up nearly half a year, Seijuurou managed to complete the task. He needed that much time because he refused to present to his father anything other than the best. Seijuurou never did things halfheartedly, and therefore went all out in making his enthusiastic cousin the next suitable heir to his father’s business.

His efforts were not in vain, of course. His cousin performed exceptionally well during his trial period, and Seijuurou could see that even his father had been grudgingly impressed. Really? Did he really think he couldn’t do even that? Seijuurou wasn’t sure whether to feel offended or to feel triumphant. Not that all that mattered.

When Seijuurou was finally allowed to leave for good, his father had confronted him one final time. He’d asked him one last time on why he was so insistent to return to wherever he’d been staying at during his disappearance. Not why he refused to inherit the company, not why he ran away.

And Seijuurou’s answer had been simple.

He’d found a place he could call home.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still sorry. 
> 
> but on the side note, thanks so much for reading this till the end! ;;u;; Thank you!


End file.
